The defining trait of a world's will was its simplicity.
It couldn't be helped. A macro-level will that governed the operation of a world didn't understand complexity or nuance.
So if Lynn wanted to communicate with it, his wording had to be as straightforward as possible—clear, direct, and to the point.
I'm here to secure investment.
And once you've invested in me, you can't keep rejecting me, right?
As for whether it would work, Lynn wasn't too worried. This plan ranked first among his options not only because of its benefits, but also because its theoretical success rate was quite high.
To put it into perspective, he was like a newly born prodigy in a cultivation world, landing directly within the territory of a supreme holy land, currently being targeted by its protective formation.
It looked dangerous.
But if he could just alert the higher-ups of the holy land, they would take one look and think:
Whoa! An ancient sacred body—and one that hasn't had its future severed. Boundless potential!
At that point, as long as he showed the right attitude, who would refuse to invest?
Not to mention, his "sacred body" was special. Once he passed the infancy stage, he could form Gates of Traversal. At that time, even if this universe gained nothing material, simply receiving foreign laws and information would already be pure profit.
Loss?
Impossible.
But…
Where was the response?
'Something's wrong.'
After waiting for a while with no reply, Lynn realized something was off.
Regardless of the difference in scale, in terms of level, he and the universe were equal. Just like basic etiquette between people—even if one refused contact, there would at least be a response.
Even a simple "get lost."
Yet now, there was nothing.
'…Don't tell me something's actually gone wrong?'
Lynn found it hard to believe.
He knew this universe was chaotic. Anyone who paid attention to lore could piece together fragments of its cosmic background.
Concepts like the ultimate law that "all living things must perish," or the devouring radiance that could swallow entire universes.
From certain hints, it seemed the universe had already passed its peak and was now declining rapidly.
But Lynn hadn't taken it too seriously.
With a World Seed of equal level, even in its dormant state, he had a clear understanding of how resilient entities at this level were. Even a rapid decline would still take an immense span of time.
In other words, those calamities would need time to grow before they could threaten the foundation of the universe.
By then, he would already have grown strong enough to settle his debts and leave.
So what did it matter?
Yet now, the will of the universe wasn't responding.
That left only three possibilities.
Either those calamities were far more terrifying than expected, leaving the universe's will too occupied to respond.
Or Teyvat itself lay within a "fallen zone," and the signal couldn't reach.
The last possibility…
Was that the universe was already critically ill—its macro will blurred, having fallen into a dormant state.
None of them were good news.
'This is troublesome…'
Unwilling to give up, Lynn sent several more messages.
Just like the first, they vanished without a trace.
At that point, there was no choice.
'Then I'll have to settle for second best.'
Using the same analogy—if the "higher-ups" of the holy land were unreachable, how could a newborn prodigy deal with the hostility of the protective formation and secure resources to survive?
Simple.
If you couldn't find the higher-ups, you could still find the disciples.
And right now, there was one right beneath him—
The planet where Teyvat existed.
'Might as well call it Teyvat too.'
In extraordinary worlds, living planets typically possessed a planetary will, similar in nature to a universe's will, though at a lower level.
Having made his decision, Lynn withdrew his gaze from the stars and turned it downward, observing Teyvat from the perspective of a world.
What he saw made him instinctively want to gasp—if he still had a human body.
The state of Teyvat's planetary will was utterly miserable.
If compared to a human, it would be like a body covered in external wounds, with failing internal organs, its circulatory and immune systems nearly collapsed, limbs crippled, poisoned, and unconscious.
But considering what it had endured over thousands of years, it wasn't surprising.
The dragon race it had nurtured had been nearly wiped out. The elemental authority once entrusted to the Dragon Sovereigns had been seized, then used to suppress the very order it had established.
And that wasn't all.
Nibelung had brought back the Abyss from beyond the universe, clashing with the Heavenly Principles in a battle that left one dead and the other grievously injured—collateral damage to the planet was inevitable.
After that, humans replaced the dragons as the dominant inhabitants. The fragments of the Heavenly Principles gave rise to gods, who stirred chaos across the land. Each death left behind lasting contamination, while the Abyss continued its relentless attempts to infiltrate.
'Tsk… what a miserable state.'
A thousand thoughts condensed into a single sigh. Without hesitation, Lynn acted.
He split off a portion of his own essence—carving out a fragment of his world's origin.
The universe's will was far beyond his reach, no matter its condition.
But Teyvat's planetary will was different.
Severely wounded? On the verge of death? Unconscious?
It didn't matter.
Even if his current scale was insignificant compared to Teyvat, his origin was like a miracle cure to a lower-level counterpart.
'Here you go!'
Ignoring the immediate sense of weakness from losing that fragment, Lynn pushed the separated origin directly into Teyvat's planetary will.